


Mrs Weasley's Christmas Jumpers

by Ladderofyears



Series: Shipmas 2018 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anger, Emotional Manipulation, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oblivious Albus Severus Potter, Out of Character, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: It is Christmas Eve, and Albus Severus feels heartbroken.





	Mrs Weasley's Christmas Jumpers

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't really how I view Scorpius Malfoy at all; I actually imagine he is a very straightforward and honest person! However, Christmas can be a lonely, and difficult, time for many people and I wanted some of my stories to reflect this. Albus is having a really bad time of it in this story, so if you really don't enjoy infidelity or emotional manipulation, this might not be the story for you. 
> 
> I can promise that Albus and Scorpius will have a happier and much more fluffy experience in some of the other stories!

Albus was angry. More than angry. Revulsion coursed through his body, his heart beating erratically and his stomach tying itself in knots. Hours had passed since he had apparated away from his family, leaving their Christmas party without a word. And still he was angry. Livid. Al had wandered through the sludge and grime of a Diagon Alley on Christmas Eve, the last few stragglers so intent on their last-minute purchases that they had paid him no attention. That had been one small blessing. Any _Prophet_ journalist or mad-keen fan of his dad’s wouldn’t have bourne out well with him tonight. 

He’d had his hand on his wand, pushed down deep into his pocket. The urge to hex, or curse had felt incredibly strong, and perhaps for the very first time in his life he could feel the appeal of doing something really ugly, something Unforgivable. If he couldn’t use his wand, maybe he’d use his fists. But a life lived in the public eye was good training for when your heart had been broken, and Al had done nothing of the sort. Instead, he’d found his way to the Leaky, drank Firewhiskies that had done nothing to improve his mood, and left only when the owner had kicked him out. 

He considered, sourly, that it might have helped if the whiskey had actually made him drunk. Instead, it seemed to have become rancid acid, swirling inside and adding to his ire. He’d thought about going home, but Dad would have followed him there, with a look of concern and twenty sodding questions for Albus to answer. That was the last thing he could borne tonight. He didn’t need anyone's pity, or chippy advice. All he needed was to be left alone, to revel in the fury that consumed him. 

Not that anybody had missed him. When he’d returned the Burrow was quiet. The Weasley Christmas Eve party used to be a wild affair back when he was at school. The coming of marriage and babies for his cousins had meant it becoming quieter, more subdued. Now it was all about whether Santa would remember to visit, or how many Cribbage’s Wizarding Crackers you could pull. And, that, Albus knew, was the true reason for his anger. All those silly little Christmas rituals, all that love and joy that it brought to each and every one of his family was forever denied to Albus. 

Last night, at dinner, Scorpius Malfoy, whom he had loved for seven years had announced his engagement to someone else. 

The scene replayed itself incessantly through his mind. Rose and Scorpius standing shyly, announcing that they had waited till everybody was together to share their big news. She’d even had a ring, a big fat diamond with a cut and sparkle that screamed Malfoy heirloom. Everybody had been on their feet then, crowding round them. Scor being pulled into a hug by Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione crying. Rose standing there, fucking glowing, stars shining in her eyes. 

Albus had been unable to move, his body seemingly rendered incapable of obeying his brain by the shock. And he’d known, known because he knows the every working of Scor’s mind, that his best friend was looking at him to get up, to shake his hand and pull him into a hug. To call him a lucky bastard, and say that they were family now. 

But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stand up and deny what they had when no one else was around, when it was just them together. Not that either of them had ever discussed it. They’d never needed to have words to define what they were. Not since that day in fifth year when a tussle over a piece of unfinished homework had ended with them lying on Scor’s bed, Al climbing on top of him. Their hands had been everywhere, pulling off each others robes. Albus had been impatient, eager and desperate. He’d wrapped his hands round Scor’s beautiful big cock together with his own, and it had all been so messy, so uncoordinated and perfect. 

Albus can still see Scor’s face as he had come, the slight opening of his mouth, his wide open eyes that truly couldn’t believe what had happened. Al had come seconds later, grunting through thick warm wet spurts that had coated both him and the boy beneath him. Really, it should have been mortifying. Neither had lasted more than a few moments. But Albus couldn’t ever think about it without a sense of awe, a sense of the simple rightness of their couplings. 

Unlike Scorpius, Al had never had a moment of regret. Albus had understood he was gay before he knew there was a word for what he was. He’d looked at James’ Quidditch magazines and been unable to stop looking at the player’s muscles and how their bodies fitted together. When he was seven, Lily and he had both chosen the player they were going to marry when they got old enough. He’d woken to wet sheets after dreams about his brother’s friends when he was thirteen. 

There was nothing for it; he was queer, and had been impossibly in love with Scorpius since that day, when they were fourteen, and he had spied his friend’s flat arse in the showers. 

Albus wanted Scorpius. Wanted hand holding, trips to sees Quidditch, even that bloody ring. But Scor had never had the same freedom to want as Al did. Scor’s father wanted him married, wanted a nice bride and a chubby little heir to carry on their name. Scor had told Al that Draco had been driven half-mad by grief when he’d lost Astoria, that he was hell bent on shoring up their dynasty, but Al didn’t truly believe that. He thought that Scor was in denial, believing that he could somehow make a marriage work, and keep Al on the side, nice and discreet. Certainly nothing that the _Prophet_ would feel the need to report about. And of course, nothing that he might ever possibly want to share with the world. 

Which led back to the rage, the fury, that consumed him that night. Rose had been Scor’s latest choice. They’d all gotten on superbly at school once all that Voldemort’s child bollocks had washed away. Scor and she had been partners in their fancy advanced classes, and had served as Head Boy and Head Girl together. Al knew she’d fancied him too, seen it in the way her eye’s brightened and her voice changed when he was around. 

He remembered that awful day that Scor told him how perfect she’d be. The Minister’s daughter, intelligent and beautiful. He could make her happy, give her what she wanted. Best of all, Rose was Al’s very own cousin so they’d always be able find reasons to find each other out, family get-togethers where they could sneak off to a quiet room and not be missed.

Al had been disgusted, incandescent with rage. Hurt for Rose and heartbroken for himself. He’d hoped that Scor would give up on the marriage and babies bullshit before he broke both of them, but to destroy Rose too? They had fought, words and wands, Al repulsed that Scor would betray his own truth, deny everything that he truly was, and be so complicit in it too. It made Albus sick to think he would hurt others for some outdated notion of purity and wholesomeness. Al could take being hidden, being the dirty secret, the source of shame. Al would take it, and he’d accept it because that was how much he loved Scorpius. 

But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, accept that for Rose. And so he walked out. Refused Scor’s owl, and sent his messages back unread. He’d know through family gossip if Rose and he broke up, but that day had never came. The Firewhiskies felt like bile inside him. Heartbreak, anger and alcohol had coalesced to form the start of a migraine, and Albus realised that sleep wasn’t going to be forthcoming that night. Giving up trying to get comfortable, he decided to try and find some Pepper-Up potion or maybe something a bit stronger. Maybe he could find some of that Muggle vodka that he knew Granddad liked to keep a stash of, hidden behind the sink. 

He made his way down the stairs, grateful for the lumos his wand provided, moonlight streaming through the windows. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here at night like this, and it felt slightly illicit. But he needed something to knock him out. The idea of sitting around the dinner table, Rose and Scor in their matching Christmas jumpers, on no sleep, was sickening. As he reached the kitchen however, Al could make out the silhouette of a person sitting at the table. 

Pulling out the chair next to Scor, Al debated what to do next. Clever fucking Scorpius, and his clever little game. Scor knew exactly how much he’d upset Albus. Tonight’s little show had worked its magic, and suckered him right back in. Al never, ever had been able to leave Scor well alone, and this was the little routine they always seemed to play when they fought. This was the point were Al was supposed to cave, to take his lot. 

Find Scor’s sweet little lips and kiss them till they were promising each other the world. Stupid bloody Scorpius, and his stupid bloody drama. He looked at his best friend, and for the life of him, Al couldn’t understand how somebody he loved could hurt him so badly. 

“No… I’m not doing this Scor. Fuck this. Not this time… In front of my whole fucking family? Is this what we’re going to do, fuck around behind Rose’s back? I don’t need this-” 

Al got up to leave. His hands were clenched in fists, and he didn’t want to do anything he’d regret. Didn’t want to get his family running in, exposing their sordid little lives to everybody he loved. 

“I don’t need this. I’m sick of seeing you running away from who you are. Running away from us. How long am I supposed to play your fucking games?”.

Albus made for the door, turning his back on Scorpius. The other man scrambled to his feet, moving quickly between Al and the exit, and throwing out his hands to halt his way. 

“Please Al, don’t go. Please...” For a moment two men just stared at each other. Al was livid. 

He could feel the race of his heart, taste the sourness of his breath. He thought he’d like to curse Scor, maybe make him cry. Break his heart into a million pieces. He lent over and roughly pulled Scorpius to him by the neck of his tee-shirt, kissing him. Al knotted one set of fingers in his hair, the others he used to dig into Scor’s side, holding him firmly in place. Scor’s mouth felt slick and hot next to his, and he just couldn’t get enough. He tasted delicious, immediately making Al’s stomach tingle and his prick so hard. This was how it always was between them. Whatever else they were in their lives, this was when they were most right, most honest. 

Al pushed Scor against the wall, never once stopping kissing him. Scor had pushed his hands under Al’s shirt, and the feel of his fingernails running up and down his back was exquisite. His hands moved further down to clasp his arse, pushing their hips together. The friction between the two of them was desperate, and Al groaned as Scor’s hard cock rocked against his own. They’d been apart too long, and Al’s body, so full of tension, anger, needed the release too badly. He came first, mouth against Scor’s, his whole body trembling with the shock of his orgasm. Scor followed seconds later, his breathing harsh and loose in Al’s ear. 

Al couldn’t bring himself to move. The haze of coming, the alcohol and his earlier anger had exhausted him. Looking down at Scor, he gave him a half smile. 

“We can’t keep doing this Scor. I can’t keep doing it… Lying to the world. Hurting people we care about… You can’t carry on this thing with Rose, I can’t just be your secret. We could have a good thing together.”

“I promise, Al, it’ll work out. I could make this work… I’m never giving you up, Al… Need you too much. Need to have you in my life. Just give me till the new year, I’ll talk to Rose, clear up this engagement thing up… Honestly. I know what I’m doing.”

Al watched Scor’s back as he bounded up the stairs back to his fiancées room, and felt sad. Tomorrow he’d look at their matching Weasley Christmas jumpers, their matching smiles and watch as Rose flashed her diamond-clad finger to the world, and he’d smile along with the rest of his family. Dinner talk would be about weddings, families, jobs and lives. _You never know_ , he thought. _Maybe, one day, it would be his turn to be loved_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I promise that things will be happier in most of the other Shipmas 2018 stories!
> 
> Have a really good day xxx


End file.
